


If Time Stopped

by meliorismel



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Idols, Drinking, Drugs, Established Relationship, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi-centric, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Tension, Underage Smoking, soonyoung is a soloist, this fic is a hoshi love fest so everyone loves hoshi, unrealistic plot points, with a very big heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorismel/pseuds/meliorismel
Summary: Soonyoung finds love in every corner of Seoul
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, Kim Mingyu/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Everyone, OT13
Comments: 19
Kudos: 74
Collections: You Made My Summer Fest





	If Time Stopped

**Author's Note:**

> Written for YMMS prompt Y151  
>   
> Things to note:  
> \- at the start of the fic, the seventeens are in their 30s with Chan being the youngest at 31  
> \- Soonyoung debuts at 17  
> \- This is dated back before Inkigayo switched time slots   
> \- Please mind the 'Unrealistic Plot Points' tag because there are some elements of this fic that are realistically impossible but they make me happy so therefore they stay.

D-0 4:00 AM

There’s a moment of pause when Soonyoung steps one foot over the threshold that separates his home from the outside. His other foot still hovers in the air, giving him the false confidence of being able to choose whether he wants to continue walking to the white van parked down the driveway, or if he wants to turn around, toe off his shoes, and crawl back into the warmth beneath his covers.

It’s just a pause—quicker than a heartbeat—but Wonwoo must’ve caught it in his periphery because, before Soonyoung can even think to backtrack, Wonwoo’s hand curls around his wrist. Soonyoung flinches at the contact, yet the hardened callouses rubbing against his forearm create a friction that alleviates any desire to slip away.

So, Soonyoung takes the other step, then another after that, and another after that until they reach the van. Wonwoo’s chilled fingers act as a tether to keep him close as they navigate the curved driveway, careful not to step on any cracks in the concrete.

Soonyoung tunes in to the low hum of the engine, no louder than the chirping birds off at a distance, and he thinks how it’s much too early to be doing this. A shiver starts in his shoulders and travels down to his bare toes sticking out from his sandals.

Much too early and much too cold.

“It’s warmer inside,” Wonwoo says when he opens the passenger door. He waits until Soonyoung is settled into the seat before he reaches in and buckles his seatbelt for him. Before Wonwoo is out of reach, Soonyoung places a swift kiss to his temple. His lips encounter more silky hair than smooth skin, but a light red tints Wonwoo’s ears anyway as he closes the door.

It’s much too early.

Breathing the thick air that circulates through the van is challenging, kind of feels like Soonyoung is suffocating inside a blanket. He loosens the scarf around his neck with his free hand, making space for the heat to settle between the folds, and he adjusts the temperature just as Wonwoo finally climbs into the driver’s seat. They start moving immediately. A schedule as tight as theirs doesn’t leave much room for empty gaps.

Wonwoo’s voice fills the space anyway.

“I’d ask what time you went to sleep last night but—” he trails off because he knows. Soonyoung never spends the night before a showcase sleeping.

“You’ll be dis—appointed,” Soonyoung yawns behind his hand.

Wonwoo takes his eyes off the road to glance at him.

“It’s a long ride,” he says. Translation: _go to sleep._

Soonyoung doesn’t think twice about taking Wonwoo’s advice and leans his head against the window. He notices the thin fog weaving its way through the abandoned streets speeding past. It coats the glass till all he can see is muted colors and blurred buildings.

Soonyoung traces abstract lines through the condensation with his fingers, gradually revealing the world outside as the water dampens the skin of his palms. The blotches of green become trees and the travelling cars seem more purposeful as they go, turning away from Soonyoung, passing him by.

Early spring is like that, always coming in slowly, waiting patiently for the last remnants of winter to subside before bursting forth with fresh life and vibrancy that gives Soonyoung the space to shake himself of his need for an extra heat source every night. Something warmer than the double blankets and the heated floorboards. Something like sticky limbs and heavy torsos entangled with his own.

Leaving his bed before the light reaches his sheets isn’t common practice for Soonyoung. Yet here he is with burning eyes, looking out towards a sleeping city sheltered in a blue that reminds him of sand in his toes and salt on his tongue. But Seoul is a city of concrete and glass, and it runs on the depleting vigor of people like him.

Comeback season is like that. There are months leading up to his promotion that seem endless, like he’s running down abandoned streets all paralleled by the same commercial high-rises. The only variety comes courtesy of the faces staring down at him from the open windows.

There are his fans – eyes brimming with tears as they shout his name, their voices carrying an overwhelming gravity of admiration too heavy for him to carry. Some of them have been with him since the beginning. Seventeen years of devotion Soonyoung sometimes can’t help but feel guilty about.

There is his staff. Most of whom have come and gone, but there are a few who have seeped their way into Soonyoung’s daily life, filling his thoughts with gratitude for some – something much stronger for others.

And then there is Wonwoo.

Soonyoung looks at his manager, both hands gripping the steering wheel as his glasses inch more down the bridge of his nose. _Handsome,_ he thinks. And maybe he shouldn’t think it as often as he does, but it gives him comfort to know that he can—and that Wonwoo doesn’t mind.

Soonyoung tries to yawn away his fatigue once he realizes that attempting to sleep at this point is unrealistic. His mind is too active running through a mental checklist of all the things he’ll do today. But at least the gentle vibrations of the engine coupled with the scent of clean peppermint help to alleviate some of his stress. He gets as comfortable as he can, reclining in his seat and watching Wonwoo drive.

Then the van stops, much too soon for them to have reached their final destination. Soonyoung blinks around before settling on a sign to his right. _Coffee Friends – We’re Open Early._

Wonwoo unbuckles his seatbelt for him.

“Well go on. Tell them I said hello.”

Soonyoung opens his door and steps out. He takes a quick look around before walking inside the café. He hadn’t worn a mask, or a hat, or anything at all that would conceal his identity, but he frequents this café often and his fans know better than to make a scene. He almost wishes that today would be different. Anything to shake him out of this lethargy he’s been feeling. He doesn’t even remember asking Wonwoo to take him here when he got into the car earlier, feet dragging and muscles aching – everywhere. Sometimes he thinks the pain won’t ever leave him.

The café is empty, courtesy of it being not even half an hour since it opened. But Soonyoung’s tiredness holds nothing against the perpetual smile on Jisoo’s face whenever he greets him at the door.

“Good morning Mr. Hoshi. Wonwoo called ahead. I’m sure you’ll find Jeonghan’s fresh brew exactly to your taste.”

“Jisoo, please,” Soonyoung pleads, “It’s too early in the morning.” He doesn’t move too far past the entrance, knowing that this was meant to be a quick stop, something not penciled into his official schedule but that Wonwoo made time for anyway to benefit his temperament.

“It’s never too early to show respect to the King, is it?”

Soonyoung ignores Jisoo’s comment in favor of watching Jeonghan come out from behind the counter, a hot drink in his hand and a to-go box hiding whatever new pastry he might want Wonwoo to taste.

“Here.” Jeonghan hands him the drink and he lets the warmth sink into his skin and penetrate his bones. His trainer always talks about the benefits of heat therapy and sometimes Soonyoung remembers that he’s hardly ever wrong. “This is something I’ve been working on. It should help boost your energy for about three hours without making you crash or miss out on sleep.” Jeonghan then hands him the box, fingers curling around Soonyoung’s to transfer even more heat and just a tiny blip of emotion. “And this is my –”

“Our,” Jisoo interrupts to make the ends of Soonyoung’s mouth curl upwards.

“ _My_ comeback present to you,” Jeonghan continues with only a tiny glare to Jisoo. “He was lazy and thought he could just shower you with kisses.” 

Jisoo giggles, never losing his smile even as his character is defamed.

Soonyoung’s gaze shifts between the two and he feels a strong sense of longing.

“I haven’t gotten any kisses,” he whispers. Jeonghan scoffs but it’s Jisoo who steps closer and wraps his arms around Soonyoung’s neck. Soonyoung’s hands are full at the moment, so he just stands there, letting Jisoo blur the boundaries of personal space until he can feel warm air on his lips.

“Patience is a virtue, King,” Jisoo breathes out, “You taught me that.” His lips are as soft as Soonyoung remembers, familiar and affectionate like everything he represents in Soonyoung’s life. He chases it when they break apart, not quite ready to let go and start his day. But Jisoo’s forehead against his is like a wake-up call.

“That wasn’t very careful of you,” Soonyoung reminds him once he finally regains his sense of clarity. That wasn’t very _smart_ of himself. But he’s not supposed to be the genius one in this trio.

Somehow Jeonghan replaces Jisoo, and Soonyoung is left marveling at his body temperature. Because when Jeonghan’s arms surround him it’s like Soonyoung’s wrapped in his favorite throw blanket, drinking a rich cup of cocoa, and being just the right amount of sensible. Still, Jeonghan kisses like a wildfire.

“Sorry we won’t be able to make the showcase,” Jeonghan mouths against his lips. There’s a hand in his hair, but Soonyoung can’t tell whose because he keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, till the flames simmer down to just smoke in his lungs, and he breathes something else besides the roasted hazelnut on Jeonghan’s tongue.

Soonyoung doesn’t tell them that it’s okay. He knows they’re busy and the world doesn’t revolve around him. They’ll be streaming his entire album for the next week to their customers and, to him, that’s more than enough. Everything they do is more than enough.

“Wonwoo says hello,” Soonyoung tells them, walking backwards out of Jeonghan’s arms and towards the door. He sees Jisoo and Jeonghan close the distance between themselves as they watch him leave. He knows it’s love that makes their eyes gloss over and maybe he would stay just a little bit longer to wake himself up fully if he didn’t have someplace else he needed to be. There’s always someplace else he needs to be.

He feels his back touch the door and for a second he falters, thinks about what he would have if he worked here instead. In that second, he also sees Jisoo smile and Jeonghan motioning for him to go on, to take the last step. And he remembers that what he has right now is more than enough. For now.

Wonwoo’s already waiting for him with the passenger seat door open. He silently takes the box of mystery pastries from Soonyoung and places it in the back seat. They’ve got another hour of driving ahead of them, but Soonyoung feels a little more content with everything, more eager to begin day one of what he likes to call his Fourteen Days of Heaven in Hell.

“I made sure no one saw.”

Wonwoo’s voice is even as he drives, never taking his eyes off the road. Soonyoung reaches for the hand that’s closest to him, kisses his knuckles and hums. Yeah, he doesn’t know what he would do without his manager.

YEAR 1

They haven’t spoken since Wonwoo jumped out of Soonyoung’s bed that morning, skin an impressive mosaic of marks and bruises Soonyoung only gets but a few seconds to admire before his bathroom door was slammed shut and he slipped back beneath his sheets. They smelled so much like Wonwoo’s moonlight cologne, Wonwoo’s amber shampoo, Wonwoo’s—Wonwoo.

It’s not until Wonwoo rushed out the door, words tumbling out of his mouth about a schedule—not a glance spared in his direction—that Soonyoung figured they might have a problem.

Soonyoung hangs off the back of Wonwoo’s seat, cheek smushed against the polyester, as they make another sharp turn down a street just as narrow as the last one. Wonwoo cuts corners and ignores speed limits with the same resolve he uses to avoid Soonyoung’s questions.

And every so often Wonwoo’s hair will brush against his knuckles, featherlight and restless, sometimes catching in the spaces as Soonyoung grips at something tangible. He needs to be heard, but his voice is a whisper regardless of the scream bubbling in his throat.

“I don’t regret it.”

“You should.”

Soonyoung flinches. “But I don’t, so your point is moot.”

He sees Wonwoo’s grip tighten around the steering wheel, both sets of knuckles growing paler till he releases at another sudden turn. Soonyoung is certain they’re driving in circles at this point.

“Soonyoung…” Wonwoo’s voice trails off, reminiscent of when Soonyoung’s mother tried to invoke feelings of remorse when she found cigarette buds in their flowerbed. Soonyoung learned not to smoke at home, but he never got the hang of veiling his emotions.

“I like you,” Soonyoung admits, “I thought I made that perfectly clear last night. And every night before since I met you. I haven’t exactly been subtle.” He’s lost count of how many times he’s asked Wonwoo out to dinner outside schedules, to the park, to the movies, to his home, to sleep in his bed. And yes, Wonwoo is his manager and they should be bonding, and he has to do a lot of those things anyway—be with Soonyoung at all times—but they’re also both still teenagers and Wonwoo can’t possibly be that dense to not understand that when Soonyoung asked if he wanted to go get ramen, he meant something else entirely.

The car slows down.

“I know.”

“So, where’s the problem?” Soonyoung asks, gaze unfaltering when he catches Wonwoo’s eyes in the rearview mirror as they come to a full stop. “And don’t say it’s cause you’re my manager. We both know that’s bullshit.” He slouches in his seat, putting space between the two of them.

Wonwoo turns around, nostrils flaring. “It’s not bullshit.”

Soonyoung waits for Wonwoo to finish, but when it’s obvious he has nothing more to add, Soonyoung’s desire to continue the conversation evaporates, just like that. Still, he tries. “Do you really have no other reason?”

“It’s not bullshit, Soon,” Wonwoo repeats, reaching out a hand to bring Soonyoung back close. The angle is weird, but Soonyoung is grateful that they’re touching, Wonwoo’s thumb rubbing circles across his knuckles. “You signed a contract. We both did.”

“Fuck the contract,” Soonyoung whines, leaning closer till their foreheads touch.

Wonwoo sighs. “You’re trying to end your career before it even begins.”

“No one has to know.”

“Everyone will know.”

Soonyoung frowns. “Well, yeah, if you tell them, and if we’re not careful.” He climbs over into the passenger seat so he can properly face Wonwoo. “But we’ll be careful. Wonwoo, please,” He begs.

“We can’t—”

“Please.”

“Soonyoung—” Wonwoo is cut off again by a knock on his window. He rolls it down. The smell of roasted hazelnut makes Soonyoung’s nostrils flare with interest.

“Sorry, sir, but you’re not allowed to park here.”

D-0 11:50 AM

There’s ten minutes till stand-by and the anticipation radiates from everyone in the venue to give the air an extra spike of intensity. Soonyoung can almost feel the fans’ love like a second skin. He doesn’t need the tiny screen on the wall to tell him that he’s performing to a full house today. He didn’t need the all-kill on the charts to tell him he’s been missed.

“Hoshi!” Soonyoung turns at the familiar voice, almost giving himself whiplash as he searches the tiny space. And then he sees him, one of his performance directors, though not for this stage, making his way through the sea of staff. They greet each other with a hug that’s short enough to be deemed appropriate contact but long enough for Soonyoung to find the calm he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Seungcheol’s answering smile is light and easy. “When have I ever missed a showcase?” And he’s right. Soonyoung has just been thinking a lot lately – about a lot of things. And they all come rushing back now, except he doesn’t have time to sit and wallow in self-pity because he goes out on stage in eight minutes.

“This time just feels different,” He settles on, bouncing to the sound of his title track that’s roaring through the venue. It was the most fitting for his long-awaited return. Yet now he’s wishing he had taken Wonwoo’s advice and gone for the more mellow ballad that was tossed his way instead. 

“Nervous?” Seungcheol asks, rubbing at his biceps fast and harsh. It’s what he used to do whenever Soonyoung was young and a rookie too overwhelmed by the reality that was suddenly thrust upon him. It melts away the anxiety.

“Always.”

No one had imagined he’d reach the amount of success he had so quickly, and to maintain it for seventeen years was simply unheard of. Soonyoung makes sure not to revert to that mindset as Seungcheol takes hold of his arms, shakes them as if he could uproot all the worries–about his life, his career, what he wants once this is all over–that have planted themselves in Soonyoung’s brain.

“But I don’t think that’s it. Cheol, I just feel –” He trails off, not sure how he can say what he wants and not sound ungrateful.

Seungcheol drops his arms. “Tired?”

“Of everything,” Soonyoung sighs. He hadn’t expected the conversation to get so heavy, especially right before he goes on stage for the first time in almost a year. Seungcheol just has this way about him that makes Soonyoung want to tell him everything, no thoughts spared to the consequences. He can see the moment Seungcheol decides he’s not going to let him off easy.

“I know your contract is ending soon,” Seungcheol starts and Soonyoung nods.

“Three months.”

Seungcheol makes a face just as a staff rushes to tell Soonyoung that he’s got two minutes till showtime.

“Okay, do you think you can hold off those thoughts for the next three hours?” Seungcheol smiles at him, light and easy. Light and easy, maybe that’s what Soonyoung really needs – what he really wants.

Seungcheol takes Soonyoung in his arms again, holds him so tight it feels like he won’t ever break – not from the contract negotiations, or the wishful thinking, or everything he’s ever let go of in his past. He lets Seungcheol’s voice carry all the reassurance when it ghosts across his ear. “Whatever you decide should be what’s best for you and only you know that. I won’t give you any advice. Go knock ‘em dead, Tiger.”

Seungcheol lets him go, even though Soonyoung has told him how much he hates it when he leaves. But this is different, he supposes. They’re not locked inside a room, buried in each other’s skin.

Yet.

Soonyoung watches Seungcheol walk away from him, thinking back to how he walked out of the café that morning and something twists in his chest.

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah?” And there’s that smile again.

Soonyoung hears the one-minute warning in his ears, but it’s not important.

“What are you doing after this?”

Seungcheol shrugs, then raises a finger to point at him. “Maybe you can tell me?”

The countdown finishes and Soonyoung receives his cue to go out on stage. So, he walks – light and easy with a bright smile on his face so the fans are never the wiser.

D+1 12:23 AM

He expects the chime of his door unlocking when it finally comes, though it’s later than he expected. He’s already two bottles of soju in and more than a little inebriated.

Seungcheol walks in like he owns the home, footsteps sure and purposeful. Soonyoung hears him rustling in the kitchen before he’s joined on the couch. He wastes no time acquainting himself with Seungcheol’s lap, his hands in his hair, lips on his neck. Seungcheol smells like all the things Soonyoung loves and its more intoxicating than anything he could ever find in a bottle.

“You did good tonight.”

“Mm”

“The fans loved you.”

“Cheol, please.”

It’s all he can do to keep himself from undressing both of them right there on the couch. But Soonyoung has always preferred softer surfaces, surrounding himself with silk luxuries and being able to wrap his hands and twist and pull without complaint. Seungcheol knows this and he’s picked up not a moment later.

D+1 7:05 AM

“Wake up.”

Soonyoung blinks his eyes open slowly, though it does him no good because all he can see is the skin of Seungcheol’s chest. He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath of Seungcheol’s scent. He smells like skin and sweat, but there’s also something so distinctly Seungcheol that it makes Soonyoung not want to wash his sheets for days after he visits. He wants to bury himself in that special something, soak himself for an eternity till he feels like he’s never alone, like he always has a piece of Seungcheol to carry beneath his skin.

Soonyoung exhales and turns around to where he knows Wonwoo is knelt at the side of his bed. He looks how he always does, clean and together. Something Soonyoung can only accomplish with the help of at least half a dozen make-up artists and stylists.

“What time is it?” Soonyoung grunts, voice rough with sleep and, well, other things he hopes Wonwoo won’t feel the need to chastise him about later. Soonyoung doesn’t know what he has to do today, just that he has things on his schedule he is most definitely not in the mood for. He wants to spend the day like he spent this winter before preparations for his comeback began – something similar to right now.

“Late,” Wonwoo answers, his cool fingertips brushing the hair out of Soonyoung’s eyes before he stands up. Soonyoung follows the movement then lies on his back to stare at the ceiling, sighing when he feels Seungcheol’s arm around him tighten just the slightest bit. Soonyoung never was a fan of the morning after. The leaving.

“Cheol.”

“Let him be for now. He knows his way out. But we have to go in the next ten minutes.”

Soonyoung nods sleepily, no better at waking up in someone else’s arms than he is at waking up alone. Seungcheol could sleep through a tornado, so he takes no measures to make less noise than usual when he’s getting ready. Wonwoo is standing by the door when Soonyoung finally walks out and is ready to leave. Wonwoo’s lips are pressed tight and his eyes searching.

After a moment, he shakes his head, holding out a pair of shoes for Soonyoung. “Mingyu’s not going to appreciate this.”

As they walk out the door Soonyoung can already hear the whines he’s grown accustomed to over the years of bad skin days and mild insomnia. He feels bad. Though not because Mingyu will be doing the work they pay him for.

“He’s seen worse.”

YEAR 2

Soonyoung dodges Wonwoo’s questions with tight lips and light feet, avoiding saying out loud what makes his heart beat double time when he glides across the practice room floor weightless—wanted.

He’s working with Seungcheol again today. Brilliant Seungcheol. Talented Seungcheol. So-handsome-push-me-in-a-bathroom-stall-and-let’s-make-out Seungcheol.

Soonyoung’s toes curl at the memory as he’s warming up in front of the mirror. His senses bring back the heady smell of Seungcheol’s cologne as Soonyoung mouthed at his neck, shallow nips along his collarbone because he knew not to leave any marks. There’s the fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt, threadbare from too many washes, but perfect for Soonyoung to grip and pull Seungcheol closer, closer. Never close enough until he felt hot breath across his ears, Seungcheol’s whispers are plucked right out of Soonyoung’s dreams. Just like his mussed hair, his wrinkled shirt, the crooked smile on Seungcheol’s face when they finally separated and Soonyoung was left with the taste of cherries on his tongue.

Making out in bathroom stalls was never Soonyoung’s desired way of starting a relationship, but two years of pining make for extenuating circumstances and Seungcheol running out afterwards gave him time to think on it—not that he really needed any when you factor in the way he gravitates towards Seungcheol like he’s the worst decision on a Friday night.

Soonyoung is mid lunge when he catches Wonwoo in the mirror gesturing to the clock on the wall.

Seungcheol is late. Which can’t be right because Seungcheol is never late. A flat tire on the side of the road a few months ago was merely an excuse for Seungcheol to run the rest of the way—sweat dripping pretty down his bare chest as he apologized for his appearance to everyone else but Soonyoung (who instead received an enigmatic smile coupled with a wink that left him so bothered they had to end practice early because he wasn’t retaining any of the steps).

Soonyoung shrugs a shoulder. It’s only ten past noon and this was only supposed to be a quick refresher before he heads to another schedule. His casual demeanor subsides, however, when the hour passes and Seungcheol never shows. It’s an hour wasted on transient thoughts about how Seungcheol is avoiding him, Seungcheol regrets what happened, Seungcheol hates him, Seungcheol doesn’t want to work with him anymore, Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Seungcheol. To be confirmed when Soonyoung and Wonwoo are leaving the dance hall and there he is—Seungcheol. He’s talking with Hyerim, another one of the company’s creative directors and Soonyoung already understands what’s happening before the conversation reaches his ears.

“I can’t work with him anymore.”

Seungcheol is leaving him.

*

Wonwoo picks Soonyoung up from the floor of the bathroom stall—yes, it’s the same one—and brings him to the sink. He washes his face for him, wipes at every stray tear that falls despite Soonyoung trying so damn hard to will them all away. He doesn’t have time to mourn something he never really had. Seungcheol had always been three legs ahead of him—mapping stages and immortalizing his name from the same age Soonyoung was throwing die in backside alleys. They’re worlds away.

But Wonwoo is here to remind Soonyoung of his photoshoot in a couple hours that doesn’t call for bloated cheeks and swollen eyes. He doesn’t say anything about a hollowed heart.

By the time they leave the restroom, Soonyoung thinks they’ve done a good job at hiding any evidence of an emotional break. At the studio, Mingyu thinks otherwise.

“You wanna tell me what happened to make your face look like you lost a match with a bus?”

“Why would I do that?”

Mingyu raises a brow at the hardness in Soonyoung’s voice.

“It’d make you look less miserable.”

D+1 7:24 AM

The drive to the broadcasting station is never as long as Soonyoung wants it to be. Coupled with the fact that it’s in the opposite direction of Jeonghan and Jisoo’s café makes this morning even more unpleasant for him. So, Soonyoung stretches himself out across the backseat of the van and attempts to make up for the lost hours of sleep.

Wonwoo stops at some generic coffee place before they make it to the station and Soonyoung knows he’s barely going to touch the drink, but it’s bought on the company card anyway and he can’t feel guilty.

The noise at the station is to be expected. The charts are saturated with comebacks during this season and Soonyoung only has his superiority to thank for the quiet room he gets all to himself.

Mostly himself. He still has to share with his stylists. But they’re quiet and keep to themselves when they aren’t fussing about him. At least, most of them do. Just not the one that’s approaching Soonyoung and Wonwoo right now, arms folded tight across his chest and a frown marring his perfect face.

Soonyoung takes a thumbnail between his teeth, only for Mingyu to pull it out as he walks past him.

“Wonwoo.” There’s a challenge in Mingyu’s voice, an authority that makes Soonyoung’s breath catch around the period.

Wonwoo stands his ground. “Mingyu.”

Mingyu grabs hold of his shoulders from behind and Soonyoung tries hard not to sink back into his chest, tries hard to remember they’re in public and in a room filled with people he doesn’t know. But it doesn’t stop him from nearly melting as he feels the vibrations of Mingyu’s deep timbre when he speaks.

“I thought I told you to make sure he got a good night’s sleep and stayed hydrated and –”

“Took his vitamins and washed his face. I know. And I tried,” Wonwoo breaks to fix a stray hair in Soonyoung’s fringe. “But yesterday—the showcase.”

The Showcase. A legion of implications circle around Wonwoo’s words that would make them both detest Soonyoung if not for the years they’ve spent molding themselves to fit each other exactly where they’re needed.

“Seungcheol?” His name rolls off Mingyu’s tongue like affection chasing love. There’s no judgement to be traced in his voice, or in his expression, when Wonwoo confirms. Soonyoung doesn’t think there ever will be when it comes to him. Because Mingyu understands, accepts Soonyoung for everything he is and will never become. All the things he will never be able to give – and to him specifically.

Wonwoo peels Soonyoung away from Mingyu to sit him in the chair he’s meant to spend the next couple hours glued to as Mingyu and his crew work to make him more charming for the camera – a living god, someone no being will be able to tear their eyes away from. Soonyoung has always been amazed at his transformation into Hoshi – The Tiger, The True King of the Jungle. It’s just different enough that he gets to lose himself in the makeup, the clothes, the performance, the fans, till there’s no trace of Soonyoung left anywhere to recognize. Gone. Just like he needs him to be.

He lets Wonwoo and Mingyu continue talking about him like he’s not in the room. Soonyoung doesn’t mind, just gets comfortable in his chair, and waits for them both to get through all the formalities. He stares at his reflection in the wide mirror in front of him, sees all the hustle and bustle happening behind him, but it’s not registering past the obvious listlessness of his posture. It’s not the first time he’s had thoughts about quitting, letting go of all the busyness. Retiring to a home off the coast with all his favorite people. The time ticks down like a treasure map leading him to the end of his pipe dream that might not be too unrealistic now that he’s reached this point. Three more months. Or more like, two months, three weeks, and six days.

“It’s not over yet.”

Soonyoung blinks to observe Mingyu standing behind him. Studying him much like Wonwoo did at his door only a few hours ago. He’s always been too perceptive for his own good, but it’s why Soonyoung’s kept him around for so long. Almost as long as Wonwoo now that he thinks about it.

When Mingyu presses his skilled hands to his neck, Soonyoung closes his eyes and lets out a quiet sigh. “What am I in for today?”

Soonyoung always makes sure that Mingyu is the one in charge of his wardrobe and stage look. He trusts no one else to know intuitively exactly what Hoshi needs to be before he knows it himself. And like clockwork, Mingyu answers just how Soonyoung expects, predictable in all the ways that make Soonyoung want to forget the entirety of his existence and live only in Mingyu’s memory.

“The first look from the jacket shoot.”

Soonyoung’s mind supplies him with only a cardigan amongst all the flashes of hair and wardrobe changes the four-day jacket shoot required.

He groans. “I was not in the mood for red today.”

Mingyu continues with the massage, large hands working at every knot in Soonyoung’s neck and down his back. Then there’s a whisper at his ear. “Lacking passion lately?” And Soonyoung wants to read into that, desperately wants Mingyu to mean they’ll sneak out and meet in the supply closet down the hall. But he was already late and knows they have no time, knows that Mingyu is worried about him and maybe giving him a warning. He’s not supposed to be this obvious, especially not in a room _filled with people he doesn’t know._

Soonyoung rolls his shoulders, displacing Mingyu’s hands and straightening up in the chair. He tries to make it look like there’s no place else he’d rather be.

“Not for the fans.”

Mingyu gives him a look, soft and proud and knowing. Always knowing. “Alright then,” he chimes, “Any qualms about forehead?”

“No qualms, Gyu. Just do your magic. I’m ready to stop thinking.”

Soonyoung closes his eyes to the feel of too many pairs of hands in his hair and not nearly enough interest to get him through this day. By the time he looks at himself again in the mirror, all he sees is Hoshi.

*

Hours have past, the recording is over, and most of the staff have gone. There are still things Wonwoo said he needed to take care of, so Soonyoung makes himself as comfortable as he can in his waiting room. Mingyu is seated in the chair next to Soonyoung's, updating him about all that’s happened since they’ve last seen each other, the projects he’s managing, the clients he’s blacklisting – anything but Soonyoung and his life and what they’re doing together in this moment.

“And she didn’t say anything?” Soonyoung manages around his laughter. His hand finds its way to Mingyu’s upper thigh and stays there, gently squeezing with each huff of breath.

Without looking, Mingyu lays a hand atop Soonyoung’s, upside down so their knuckles are touching. “By the time she noticed, half her head was green!”

Soonyoung takes his free hand and traces the creases on Mingyu’s palm, giving most of his attention to the heart line. It’s so clear and deep. “You’re a menace,” he whispers, unsure why his voice comes out so low and feathered, and why he can’t seem to look at anything besides both their hands on Mingyu’s thigh.

Mingyu matches his decibels, words just as light in the air as his breath against Soonyoung’s ear. “She deserved it for badmouthing my crew.” Soonyoung is at a loss for how they got this close, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in to rest his head on Mingyu’s shoulder. Strangers in the room be damned. Mingyu leans back, effectively ruining his hard work from hours before. “You know I only work with the best and –”

“Only the best work with you,” Soonyoung finishes for him.

“You get it.”

The way Mingyu curls his hand around Soonyoung’s and brings it to his chest, just over his heart so Soonyoung can feel it’s steady beat makes him think that Mingyu is talking about more than just his crew.

“I do.”

YEAR 3

After the day he’s had, Soonyoung just wants to sleep. But there is cake to be had and congratulations to receive and fans to greet in just a little less than a quarter hour from now. His third full album releases at midnight, and if the response to his pre-release is any indication, Jihoon tells him that they’re looking at a roof topper. So Soonyoung stays awake, slumped against Wonwoo on the floor of his new apartment. Mingyu sits on his left, in conversation with Seungcheol but constantly nudging Soonyoung each time he laughs as if Soonyoung is in on the joke when he’s barely listening to anything that’s happening outside his head right now.

A roof topper.

Soonyoung would be more nervous if he didn’t already have three shots of soju mixing with his blood and muting his senses. There’s also the secondhand buzz he gets from Seungcheol’s blunt making rounds between the other three. As the smoke passes from Wonwoo’s mouth to his, Soonyoung is glad they had the foresight to draft his posts and take candid photos of him two hours prior when Mingyu decided the best way to celebrate a number one was to be too fucked to even remember it happening. 

A number one.

His album loops in the background. The one the public will hear in about ten minutes or so. Objectively, he thinks it has everything the public will gravitate towards and more. It’s catchy, feel good, the songs carefully picked and ordered to create a natural flow of juvenescence for a society that’s always looking for a way to relive their youth. Subjectively, he thinks it’s his best release since debut.

The title track starts again, eliciting another wave of shouting louder than the last four times it played—a testament to the slew of empty bottles lined around their feet and the thick haze above their heads.

One of them asks Soonyoung to dance but there are three pairs of hands that push him to stand up and mark the choreography they all know by heart. Seungcheol mimes his movements, eyes sharper than they should be at his level of intoxication, and it makes Soonyoung falter a few steps till he ends up flapping his hands somewhere near the end of the second chorus. Mingyu joins him, a large mass of uncoordinated limbs and contagious laughter that peters out when someone’s alarm goes off.

They watch the music video first. The only one who hasn’t seen it already is Mingyu and Soonyoung hangs onto every scatterbrained comment and wordless reaction.

“You look so fucking good,” Mingyu says, a layered compliment that none of them miss. Soonyoung finishes off the bottle in Wonwoo’s hand before he crawls his way into Seungcheol’s lap. He’s welcomed with a mouthful of smoke and ash that burns down his throat as Seungcheol kisses him for the first time that night.

The video doesn’t get the chance to properly end before Mingyu replays it, though he keeps the comments to a minimum after Wonwoo asks for a moment of quiet so he can concentrate on uploading Soonyoung’s posts without error.

This is how they pass the hour before the charts freeze—Soonyoung occasionally switching laps to share in the high and answering messages using only emojis so no one suspects he’s engaging in illegal activity. Instead they’ll coo at their phones and call him cute. Wonwoo taught him well.

Soonyoung crawls back to his manager just before the hour changes. Wonwoo pulls him close so Soonyoung can rest his head in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck and breathe his fading cologne before the chart updates.

For the first time in hours, Soonyoung’s apartment is quiet. He reaches out his hands for the other two to grab while they wait for Wonwoo to relay the information on his screen.

Soonyoung closes his eyes when Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair and finally breaks the silence. “It’s five,” he says, voice tight with disappointment that settles into Soonyoung’s gut.

“Five is good,” one of them says, and Soonyoung thinks it’s Seungcheol, but there’s a rushing in his ears that make it hard to distinguish their voices. Mingyu squeezes his hand—or maybe it’s the other one, he doesn’t really know—and Soonyoung lets them both go to wrap his arms completely around Wonwoo.

“Five is okay.” He tries not to sound defeated. Wonwoo tilts his head back, kisses him on both cheeks.

“Five is great,” Wonwoo says, “when you’re number one on all five charts. And number two. And number three.” He laughs. “Baby, half your album is in the top ten.”

Soonyoung feels all the air leave his lungs. “What?”

“You did it.”

“An all-kill?” He asks, because, yes, they planned for this, but it’s another thing to experience it in real time.

“I’d say read it and weep, but you’re already crying,” Wonwoo says as he thumbs Soonyoung’s tears away, a futile attempt because it only makes him cry harder.

“Oh, Tiger.” Seungcheol comes behind and ruffles his hair.

Mingyu is splayed across the floor, blissed out look on his face. “I’m dating a singer with an all-kill.” Soonyoung’s hiccup turns into a laugh.

“You’ll only go up from here.”

“To the top?”

Wonwoo nods. “To the top.”

D+1 2:17 PM

“After this, we’ll head straight to the fansign. Then you have the Nike photoshoot we’ll try to finish by six and the radio show at nine.” Soonyoung looks up when Wonwoo pauses reading off the notes in his phone. Somehow, he feels like he’s travelled back to his rookie days of packed schedules with hardly any breaks – a constant cycle of never-ending movement that he can’t seem to escape from. He also remembers telling his company during his last comeback that he wanted to avoid his first day of promotions being on a Sunday – remembers telling _Wonwoo._ Yet here he is with a full Sunday and not even half the energy. “Did you still want to go workout?”

Soonyoung sighs, nods in the affirmative and sends Wonwoo off to make the phone call to his gym.

It’s already a little after 2:00pm and Soonyoung knows it’s going to be a long while before he’s back at his home, showered, and in his bed asleep. But for now, he’s curled against Mingyu on the sofa in the waiting room – _still in the waiting room –_ and it’s the closest thing he’ll get to resting before he’s carted off to do all the schedules Wonwoo listed earlier, but that he only half listened to. Mingyu’s hands in his hair that he helped style earlier, and now messes with slightly, was a much better distraction for Soonyoung’s attention.

And Soonyoung wants to let him know, wants to show Mingyu how much he appreciates him on days like this when he’s wrapped head to toe in responsibilities hidden in the fine lines of his contract like a secret. Mingyu is there when he’s watching his life transmit through radio waves and tv screens, only a fraction of who he really is. Soonyoung wants him around all the time.

“I can clear my schedule, you know,” Mingyu says, quiet because he doesn’t want to ruin the silence they both relish, gentle because that’s just how he always treats Soonyoung. His hands on Soonyoung’s waist draw circles around the bone and everything is comfortable.

Soonyoung places his chin on Mingyu’s chest to look up at him through his eyelashes. “You were already off hours ago.” The broadcast has been over for nearly forty-five minutes, and Wonwoo dismissed all the crew shortly after. It’s only the three of them left and Soonyoung is sure they’re going to get kicked out by building staff soon. Either way, he knows that Mingyu should’ve been long gone with a salon as booked and busy as his is.

Somehow that reasoning doesn’t translate to Mingyu because in his next breath he’s asking Soonyoung questions about the photoshoot, the stylists, the location. But most importantly, “Who’s doing your makeup?”

Soonyoung wants to laugh, but he’s too tired to get the muscles working in the way that he needs to make the sound. He calms Mingyu down with a kiss to the cheek. “Mingyu, go home. Go eat. Go enjoy yourself with friends or something.” He kisses him again, this time on the chin just because he can, but mostly so he can see Mingyu’s eyes glaze over. “I’m not gonna make you follow me around to all my schedules.” Soonyoung kisses him again, this time on the corner of his mouth so that he can feel Mingyu’s body shiver beneath his.

Mingyu’s grip on his waist tightens before he flips them on the couch. “You don’t make me do anything.”

Now Soonyoung watches as Mingyu hovers above him, their bodies only touching where Mingyu’s hands have snaked beneath his shirt. His thick fingers make trails along Soonyoung’s torso and now Soonyoung is the one shaking.

“I _am_ your boss for today,” he protests weakly, hands twisting in Mingyu’s shirt and pulling him down so he can feel Mingyu exhaling against his lips. Soonyoung can smell the minty fresh mouthwash Mingyu used earlier mixed in with the musk of his cologne and it makes his body arch ever so slightly.

Mingyu mouths along his jawline, nips so lightly at the skin that even the fine hairs on Soonyoung’s face are undisturbed. And Mingyu’s hands find their way to his neck, one of them wraps around his nape while the other kneads lightly at his collarbone, his fingers so long they meet across Soonyoung’s Adam’s apple. And his voice is a muted rasp in Soonyoung’s ear.

“I was off hours ago.”

Soonyoung hates when his words are used against him.

But he understands that Mingyu wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to stay. If Soonyoung didn’t need him to stay.

Because Soonyoung doesn’t do alone.

THREE YEARS TILL DEBUT

Soonyoung shuffles his feet to a callback before Seokmin has a chance to finish copying his homework outside the building. He thought getting casted would be harder than freestyling for three minutes to an overplayed hip hop track with a bpm that matches most of his original choreographies. Still, it’s challenging to maintain the same level of nervous anticipation he walked in with. Soonyoung never liked winning easy.

When Seokmin asks him how it went, Soonyoung exaggerates. He tells him there were at least five other guys just as good as he was, so the casting agents made them battle for the open spots and Soonyoung barely bested one of them—who had to be at least three years older and nearly a meter taller—for the last spot. And Seokmin lets Soonyoung have his glory for all of ten minutes before he calls him on his bullshit.

“Y’know,” he starts, not as exasperated as he should be. “The thing about waiting outside that building and having such a gorgeous face, is that people want to stop and stare and talk to me. So, when I asked you how it went, that was more courtesy than curiosity, Soonbug.”

Soonyoung takes the hand Seokmin offers him as they reach the neighborhood park. He’s pulled to the swing set, and instead of letting him sit on his own, Seokmin tugs him to his lap. The rusted chains groan under their combined weight as they find balance on the narrow seat. Like this, only Seokmin’s feet reaches the sticks below.

They met here, years ago when Soonyoung had a mean streak a mile long and Seokmin was either too brave or too stupid to let Soonyoung take his spot on the swing when there was another one open right beside. So, Soonyoung climbed into his lap, red-faced and hoarse, and he stayed there for three hours because Seokmin wasn’t brave or stupid. He was just new to the neighborhood and Soonyoung was the first kid to talk to him all day.

Soonyoung was seven when he realized that not all boys threw punches and screamed to get what they wanted. Some only had to smile.

And Seokmin does that a lot – smiles till all Soonyoung can think about are pretty white teeth and pink lips calling out to him from across every room, always there.

“Will you tell me what really happened?”

Soonyoung shifts so that his legs hang off to the side instead of bumping against Seokmin’s. He sighs. “I’ve had more fun scooping cow shit, Seok. But I passed, I guess. That’s what matters.”

“No. What matters is what we’re doing to celebrate.” Seokmin holds up his hand, a joint twirling expertly between his fingers.

Soonyoung frowns. “Why is it yellow?”

“It’s dipped in acid.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t piss?”

“No.” Seokmin pauses, considering. “But the girl who gave it to me seemed nice.”

“Like she wouldn’t dip a joint in piss and give it to the first guy who flirts with her?”

Seokmin smiles. “Exactly.”

Soonyoung drops his concerns with a shrug and stands. Seokmin follows. There’s an understanding that they’ll head to Seokmin’s home. He has a room to himself with a window facing away from the front door and parents that work till after the streetlights come on. Soonyoung has never done acid before, but he guesses they won’t want an audience.

Seokmin suggests they lie on his bed—a king size that leaves them with more space around their bodies than in between when they finally settle. Seokmin also takes the first hit, dragging it out until Soonyoung pinches the skin on his waist, impatient. Then he blows the smoke in Soonyoung’s face, playful. But Soonyoung chases every last wisp till his mouth hovers near Seokmin’s and one of them laughs.

“How does it feel?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Soonyoung parts his lips when Seokmin taps the joint against his mouth. The smoke burns different down his throat—hotter—and something about Seokmin’s pretty white teeth and pink lips seem like they’ll be just the relief Soonyoung needs.

He lies back down on the pillow, eyes immediately focusing on the spinning blades of Seokmin’s ceiling fan.

Seokmin can’t stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re gonna be an idol,” he says.

Soonyoung lets it sink in, though not for long because suddenly there are two ceiling fans and one of them is talking with Seokmin’s voice.

"Gonna have all the girls screaming your name.”

Soonyoung stretches a hand up towards the talking fan. It reaches back with dusty brown fingers. Soonyoung giggles. “Just the girls?”

Something about the way the smoke hangs suspended just beyond their eyelashes prompts them both to turn at the same time. Soonyoung wonders if it’s their closeness or the drugs that makes Seokmin grow larger next to him. He doesn’t mind it, though. The more, the merrier, especially when Seokmin tangles their legs together and takes another long drag. All Soonyoung sees are his lips, blurred but still the prettiest pink he’ll ever remember, and wet. 

“Your face won’t attract the gays,” Seokmin deadpans, but the way he runs his fingers down Soonyoung’s side makes it hard to find his words offensive. 

“It attracted you.”

Seokmin rounds his mouth to blow a smoke ring right in Soonyoung’s face.

“I’m an anomaly.”

D+1 3:00 PM

There are thirty fans at his fansign and Soonyoung cherishes each one of them as he should. But when Chan winks at him from his seat in the back, a casual arm around Hansol sitting next to him, Soonyoung feels himself itching to break his promise to Wonwoo.

No favoritism. Not after their scandal three years ago when Soonyoung couldn’t resist the way Chan’s uneven smile left creases in his cheeks, and he leaned in just a little too close, got a little too brave, and kissed the corner of Chan’s mouth to see if it was as soft as he remembered—if Chan’s giggle still sounded like bells ringing in his ears. He didn’t get to hear it much over the deafening roar of camera shutters and sharply drawn breaths.

His disappointment when security escorted Chan back to his seat was hidden once he greeted the next fan. But he watched Chan’s lopsided smile twist into something darker as he sat a head above everyone else—taunting Soonyoung from across the room till they were back at his home, later the same day, and Soonyoung got to kiss much more than the smirk off Chan’s face.

They grew up with each other, not like Soonyoung and Seokmin, but still friends—in the beginning. Chan showed up to Soonyoung’s very first fansign with a camera half his size and a disheveled uniform. He skipped school but told Soonyoung not to worry since he was first in his class anyway. At seventeen, Soonyoung wanted to tell Chan that school was a farce created by the government to keep the young from revolutionizing, but he settled on a high five and a promise that Chan wouldn’t become a delinquent. Chan sealed it with a laugh, low and bubbly and saccharine.

At fourteen, Chan already had Soonyoung wrapped around his fingers.

Five years into his career, when Soonyoung runs into Chan at some high class bar tucked into a corner of Seoul only the extremely wealthy are privy to, they get on together like crime and punishment—because Chan is barely legal when he offers to buy Soonyoung a drink, when he offers to take Soonyoung back to his apartment, when he offers to take Soonyoung. When Soonyoung says yes.

Hansol comes a year later, once Chan has started college and spends a minute and thirty seconds every few months telling Soonyoung about the cute music comp major with the honey brown eyes and soft demeanor.

“You’ll love him,” Chan says. _Like you love me_ , his eyes hope.

Soonyoung stares at Hansol’s picture and tells Chan not to worry.

At twenty-three, Soonyoung expands his heart even more. Because when Hansol introduced himself at Chan’s 20th birthday party—album in one hand, tiger plushie in the other—Soonyoung found himself being stretched between yet another set of fingers. And while Chan’s left red trails all down his skin, Hansol’s bruises never seemed to fade.

They’ve been at every fansign since then. Chan’s pictures are what everyone waits for. Only he gets the flying kisses, the cringiest aegyo, and the heart-fluttering eye-contact. Hansol comes along because he likes to see Soonyoung blush from all the affection.

Today is no different. 

He talks to Chan first.

“I brought what you wanted, but Sol asked about it.” They tell each other everything, Soonyoung, knows, it’s why they all work so well together, but this is probably the biggest—and only—secret Chan has had to keep for him.

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung reassures, signing a random page of the album Chan places in front of him. “I’m going to tell everyone soon, anyway.”

“It’s…pretty big. Pretty obvious.”

Soonyoung stops writing and looks up. “Does that matter?”

“Not to me—us.” Chan eyes shift to Hansol standing just off the stage. “But some of the others—”

“They can always say no.”

Chan shakes his head. “You know they won’t.”

D+1 4:46 PM

Soonyoung never liked the fuss that surrounds photoshoots. Too many phosphorescent lights, camera shutters, and shallow compliments to force his smile.

He’d gotten good at them, however. Charming the staff so that when they have a new project without a model in mind, his is the first name to be considered. He got that bit of advice from Seungkwan, the radio industry gifting him with more lessons than airtime.

He’s also gotten good at making demands. It helps that Wonwoo always follows through, because when he walks onto the set, he doesn’t see any of the usual hub of human traffic. There’s only Junhui sitting in his director’s chair, camera in hand, waiting. Smiling.

“Mingyu’s had his hands on you today, I can tell.”

“You’re no psychic for knowing your boyfriend’s schedule.” Soonyoung shoots back.

Junhui hops out the chair, taking long strides till he’s face-to-face with Wonwoo, kissing him before treating Soonyoung to only a smirk. “I’d kiss you too, but we don’t want to mess up those pretty lips of yours.”

Wonwoo nudges Junhui’s shoulder. “Don’t be mean,” he chides. “Mingyu let us borrow a case. I’ll do his retouches.”

Junhui dances closer to Soonyoung, but flits away once he reaches out to touch him.

“May—be la—ter,” Junhui sings, then he gets serious. “We have to start now or else you'll be even further behind schedule.” He looks to Soonyoung, finger pointing aggressively. “You forfeited any break time when you sent all my crew home, so no complaining."

Soonyoung raise both thumbs. "Got it."

"No trips to the bathroom," Junhui continues, finger now poking Soonyoung’s chest.

"Got it."

"And no—"

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, catching Junhui's wrist to pull him in finally, finally feeling Junhui's lips against his, licking into his mouth to taste the citrus bubblegum he likes to chew (and swallow) just before a shoot. He smiles when Junhui pinches his arm while breaking away to breathe.

"No kissing," Junhui pouts.

"Got it."

*

Soonyoung never liked the fuss that surrounds photoshoots, but when it’s Junhui behind the camera, he never feels like he’s working. The concept is simple, he just has to dance around the set in different Nike athleticwear, make the clothing somehow look breathable and stretchy in a still shot. When they look at the previews, Junhui manages so much more.

Junhui and Wonwoo stand in front of the computer. Soonyoung squeezes himself in-between, draping an arm over each of their shoulders as they stare at the screen. No one says anything as they click through each photo, but the air is heavy with Wonwoo’s awe, Soonyoung’s disbelief, Junhui’s overflowing satisfaction.

“How do you always manage to make it look like I’m not human?”

“I sprinkle a little love on the lens between takes.”

“Only a little?”

“Maybe a lot.” Junhui gives him a smack on the ass before walking back on set.

And if Soonyoung’s cheeks are tinged pink in the next few pics, well, Junhui can edit them out later.

D+1 11:03 PM

It’s after-hours when Minghao greets Soonyoung at the gym entrance. “Thought you would take the night off. Rest,” he says, pulling Soonyoung into a hug. Minghao always smells like the clary sage Junhui imports from France—the reason it’s so hard for Soonyoung to feel anything but relaxed when he buries his head into the crook of Minghao’s neck. He takes a long, deep breath, letting the scent travel from his nostrils to every muscle in his body. He slumps. Minghao’s strong hold keeps him standing.

“I needed to come lift something,” he mumbles against Minghao’s skin. Lifting this late at night means Soonyoung probably won’t sleep till after two in the morning. So, translation: _I needed to see you._ And Minghao gets it, leading him away from the dumbbells and towards the stretching studio.

They sit on a mat, Soonyoung between Minghao’s outstretched legs.

Minghao rests his hands on Soonyoung’s waist.

“This is better than sleep anyway.”

Soonyoung smiles, accepting the energy Minghao transfers through the skilled press of fingertips to skin. Soonyoung stretches his arms above his head.

He doesn’t tell Minghao about the dreams he’d been having recently. The ones where he’s locked in a cage, naked and starved, reaching out towards open hands that do nothing but mock and maim. And it’s bright—too bright—but all he can see are shadows across the bars and he runs—too slow—till the voices catch up and scream—too loud—for him to do what he’s told, to dance till he bleeds, to sing till he cracks and maybe the chains will fall off and the collar will loosen and he’ll be free—never free—because the dream comes again and he can’t sleep.

It’s rare that Soonyoung has nightmares, even more rare that he doesn’t tell anyone about them, not even Seokmin, who is always quick to sit them down, brew a cup of lemon balm tea, and go at it for as long as Soonyoung needs to calm down enough to sleep again.

“There’s nothing better than sleep.” 

Soonyoung lets Minghao catch his arms as they descend, relaxing the tension around his joints so that Minghao faces little resistance as he stretches the limbs loose.

“I can think of a few things you enjoy more,” Minghao teases.

“Like what?”

“Like when I take you out and you order everything on the menu and I say, ‘it’s on me.’”

Soonyoung purses his lips. “I thought you knew me better than that, Hao.”

Minghao hums, determined, and releases Soonyoung’s arms. “Movie night. All of us crowded in your living room, you in the middle surrounded by the softest pillows, every inch of you touching someone else because it makes you feel safe.” He hooks a chin over Soonyoung’s shoulder.

There’s a boundary they’re both ignoring, playing with the delicate balance of an intended professional relationship lost when Minghao introduced himself with punctuated Korean followed by an alluring laugh—a fatal combination that had Soonyoung’s knees weak and shaking, similar to the way he’s trembling against Minghao now.

“Warmer,” he says.

Minghao sneaks a hand beneath his shirt. “Your bedroom. Candle burning because you like the extra heat. Fresh out the shower so your skin is soft and smooth and warm. You just changed your sheets, so they’re silky and clean and smell like lavender and honey, so you lie down, and you think of us—every single one of us—like we’re in the room with you. You see yourself in the mirror, all alone but still flushed pink and so pretty.”

“Hao.”

“Is that better than sleep?” Minghao whispers against his ear.

Soonyoung’s body takes him back to that familiar feeling of being weightless, just near the clouds but not within them. Minghao scoots back to stand up, and it’s then that Soonyoung remembers people weren’t meant to float. It’s okay, though, because he likes being grounded. Here. With Minghao.

“Are you okay?” Minghao asks, pulling Soonyoung to his feet.

“Yeah I’m—why do you ask?”

Minghao shrugs on his way to one of the benches by the wall. “I’m not your late-night person, Soon.” He taps his thighs for Soonyoung to come sit. Soonyoung goes. “Are you and Jihoon fighting again? He didn’t say anything in the group chat.”

“No, we’re not fighting. It’s just—I’ve been having these weird dreams lately. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You were with Seungcheol last night. Did he—?”

“It helps. It’s harder when there’s no one.”

Minghao frowns. “There are twelve of us. Wonwoo lives next door, five of us are in walking distance and the other six have cars.” Minghao flicks his ear, exasperated. “You’ve never been shy before about asking someone to stay over.” Yeah, but.

Soonyoung bites the inside of his cheek. “I want more.”

“More of what? More boyfriends?”

“No! No. I—,” he pauses, running through the pros and cons of telling Minghao what’s been hanging out in the back of his mind, feeding into his anxieties. But it’s Hao, so he doesn’t have to think long before the words rush out of him. “I don’t want to keep asking everyone to come over.”

Minghao blinks, arm tightening around Soonyoung’s waist. Soonyoung waits for him to process what he’s just been told.

Minghao starts, then stops, before finally, “That’s—are you say—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Soonyoung taps a tune against Minghao’s kneecaps, stalling. “Well, I don’t read minds, but.”

“Soonie, baby, is that even possible?”

Soonyoung looks at him and says the understatement of the century.

“I’ve been looking into it.”

YEAR 10

Jeonghan and Jisoo’s apartment is down the street and two right turns away from their café. Soonyoung has long since memorized the seven-minute excursion. So has Dispatch. But the public hasn’t responded viciously to the claims of Soonyoung spending too much time with noncelebrities since he passed the half-fifty mark, so he ignores the car parked across the street and enters the complex.

Just as he steps into the elevator his phone chimes with a notification.

_[Hoshi’s Hoes—13 members]_

[8:01 PM]

haniboi: _why can’t any of u ever be on time?_

cherry scoops: _im gonna assume ur not talking about me_

kwannie: _were you waiting with your phone just to send that?_

haniboi: _why can’t any of u ever be on time except cheol?_

haniboi: _and yes I was waiting cuz I knew none of u would show up_

Soonyoung laughs as he steps out of the elevator and starts down the hallway to the last door on the left. There are decorations outside, just a small balloon tied to the door handle and a hand-drawn poster stuck to the door. _Happy 28 th Birthday Shua Star!! _There’s lots of hearts and kissy lips, but what catches Soonyoung’s attention are the thirteen stick figures surrounding the cake. At least Jeonghan didn’t cross Mingyu out this time.

chance: _sorrrrryyyyy we’re stuck in trafffffiiiiccc :( but we’ll be there in like 5 minutes!!!!!!_

minseok: _omw_

baby tiger: _opening the door_

haniboi: _king gets the prize for being first one to arrive_

cherry scoops: _I am literally sitting in front of you_

Soonyoung doesn’t have time to finish punching in the passcode to unlock the door before it’s swung open and he’s being dragged across the threshold by Jeonghan. He gets about a two second pause to toe off his shoes, shout a brief greeting to Seungcheol and Jisoo sitting together on the couch, and then he’s in the kitchen.

“I need you to try something for me. I don’t trust Ji cause he’ll say it’s good no matter what and you know Cheol will eat anything. Here.” Jeonghan holds a square up to his face until Soonyoung opens up.

“What is it?” Soonyoung asks as he chews. Not that he actually cares. He’d eat anything Jeonghan shoved into his mouth.

“Yaksik, but with caramel instead of honey. It’s got pecans, too.” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “I thought it would go better with the pajeon,” Jeonghan rushes out. He points to the other end of the island. “There’s a separate pan for Hansol.”

“It’s good, really. I like it.” He emphasizes by smacking his lips.

Jeonghan drums his fingers on the countertop, lips puckered in thought. “Alright. Your word is as good as Wonwoo’s.”

“You mean better?” Soonyoung tries.

“No.”

Soonyoung’s laugh is drowned out by Chan’s entrance, a boisterous call for the man of the hour to show himself even though Chan must’ve seen Jisoo the moment he walked in. The living room is in direct view of the door.

It takes about an hour for the last of their party to arrive and for Jeonghan to stop sending threats to their group chat. Seungkwan gets the worst of it but promises that his present will make up for his lack of punctuality.

Minus the absentees—Mingyu has an appointment with some group performing at the music festival tonight. Wonwoo is with his family back in Changwon, and Junhui has a photoshoot with a client in China—there’s ten of them here to celebrate in person. That’s more than the last three birthdays combined. Soonyoung thinks it’s because Jisoo’s birthday falls so close to the new year. It’s easier for them to find excuses to call off work, plan vacations, let loose. And, oh, do they let loose.

By ten thirty, most of the food on the island is gone, replaced by a shirtless Jisoo with a navel full of a tequila and Seokmin there to drink it up. Jihoon sits in Hansol’s lap, arms making sweeping gestures as he goes on about their useless execs, smoke trailing from the spliff between his fingers. Soonyoung doesn’t think Seungcheol has moved an inch from his place on the couch, but Minghao and Chan seem to have him occupied, if not grossly intoxicated, as they take turns pouring shots down his throat.

Soonyoung joins the small gathering of the sane, consisting of only Jeonghan and Seungkwan, on the floor in front of the tv as they decide what movie they’re going to turn on. It’s not like what they choose will matter, no one will be watching it.

“I want everyone to be settled by the time the end credits roll,” Jeonghan says while continuing to scroll.

Soonyoung rests his head on Seungkwan’s shoulder, grateful when Seungkwan slips an arm around his waist to pull him closer. “Better pick a long one.”

“Titanic,” Seungkwan offers after a moment of quiet that’s not really quiet because they can still hear Jihoon’s excited clapping, Seokmin’s drunk voice, and whatever R&B song is now playing from Chan’s phone as Minghao gives Seungcheol a lap dance. It takes Soonyoung a while to look away from that.

“Jisoo always cries at the part with the violins.”

Jeonghan nods and starts searching through their DVDs instead.

They’re eating cake by the time Jack takes Rose to a real party—which is about an hour and three minutes later. And Jeonghan is right, everyone’s sobered up when the iceberg hits and right on cue—maybe even before—Jisoo cries.

It’s loud and messy when everyone moves to comfort him, a chaos of bodies all piled into a mass on the floor. It stinks too, a foul mix of alcohol, fermented food, and whatever the hell Hansol pulled out of his pocket and rolled earlier with Jihoon.

But Soonyoung takes it all in stride, bookmarking this moment for all the future nights he’ll spend missing when they’re not together like this.

D+30 10:59PM

There’s a bulb in Jihoon’s studio that flickers every thirteen seconds. It’s faint but it makes Soonyoung’s eye twitch if he stays for too long. He’s reaching his limit soon, a modest pulsing in the corner of his right eye threatening to get worse with every blink.

Soonyoung is pretty sure everyone has offered to replace it for Jihoon since he lets the errand slip further down his list of priority things to do. Jihoon, of course, refuses, claiming that the bulb is too expensive and that he’ll get to it eventually. Except eventually was more than four months ago and Soonyoung thinks that at least three of them now have it on their list of birthday gifts for Jihoon come November.

It’s why neither of them say anything when Soonyoung moves to lie on the couch and fold an arm over his eyes.

The demo Jihoon plays is exactly what Soonyoung expects it to be. Raw vocals over a stripped backtrack of a single piano melody. Soonyoung ignores the lyrics, knowing they’ll change sometime later down the road, and he focuses on the way Jihoon’s voice carries what seems like a lifetime of unhappy endings.

He forgets this is for him.

“A ballad,” he says once the song ends.

“What did you expect?”

Soonyoung bites down on the words flitting around in his mouth, knocking against his teeth to make their way out. “It’s sad,” He says. Too sad. He doesn’t want to cry on stage. He hasn’t done that since his first solo concert back in year four.

“What did you expect?” Jihoon repeats, this time followed by a laugh.

Soonyoung contemplates removing his arm so he can see the corner of Jihoon’s mouth dimple but decides against it. Another time. “I’m not dying.”

“No. But you are leaving.” Soonyoung hears the sliding of wheels and guesses Jihoon has turned back to his computer—confirmed when the sound of rapid typing reaches his ears. “And while it might not be devastating to you, it will be to your fans. They’ll want to cry.”

“Who _wants_ to cry?”

“The general population of the Republic of Korea,” Jihoon deadpans. “And Seungkwan.”

Soonyoung sighs. “This is gonna be worse than when I enlisted.”

“By a landslide.”

D+60 4:37 PM

Visiting his parents stopped feeling like going home once Soonyoung bought them a new house in the city. He feels more like a guest now than a resident, but he guesses it’s his fault for not visiting often enough. He stops by on birthdays, some holidays. Most of the time he’s either on his way to or back from Seungkwan and Seokmin’s shared apartment.

Today isn’t any different. His mom has asked him to stay for dinner twice already between topics and Soonyoung can decline only so many more times before he caves. But Seokmin called him earlier—said they needed to talk. Seungkwan confirmed it was nothing serious when he overheard Soonyoung’s hesitant reply. So, he only stays with his parents for about an hour, enough time to get through the standard interrogation. How are things? Did he renew his contract? Is he Happy? Has he finally settled down with Seokmin? No, not Seokmin, Wonwoo. Wait, Wonwoo was years ago, it’s Mingyu now. Has he finally settled down with Seung—whoever?

Soonyoung answers: Fine. No. Yes. Soon.

And then he’s gone, on the road to Seungkwan and Seokmin’s because if his parents haven’t figured it out yet, they will soon. He’s just not sure he wants to have that conversation on a time constraint.

When he arrives, Seungkwan opens the door.

“Fair warning,” He whispers, slightly panicky, “He just finished a double at the hospital.”

Soonyoung blinks, shucking off his jacket and shoes as they make it past the entrance.

“Why did he ask me to come now?”

Seungkwan ushers him to the loveseat in the living room and the alarms start going off in Soonyoung’s head again. Casual conversations don’t happen in the loveseat. Seungkwan sits on the arm of the chair, fingers automatically moving to massage the knots in Soonyoung’s neck. He’s been stressed a lot lately. More than usual. He and Jihoon have been in the studio nearly every night for the past two weeks rearranging his single. Meetings with the company are just as frequent and he can feel it start to wear on Wonwoo even when the other sends him a smile from across the room. Between the studio and the company, Soonyoung hasn’t been able to see much of anyone else besides his production company (i.e. Wonwoo, Jihoon, Seungcheol, Mingyu, Jun). His workouts have been cut to once a week when he can muster enough energy to have Minghao bust his ass, and his quality caffeine intake has reduced dramatically as he’s forced to drink generic brand coffee instead of Jeonghan’s special brew.

It’s times like this when Soonyoung feels their separation pulling at him from all sides of Seoul. The invisible strings of their affection for one another getting pulled taut with the strain of being apart for such long periods of time.

Seungkwan’s thumb presses hard into Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“He just found out.”

Soonyoung double takes. “What do you mean ‘he just found out?’ Found out what?”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to answer but Seokmin’s appearance from around the corner catches both their attention.

“Kwon Soonyoung, why are you building a mansion?”

“It slipped out,” Seungkwan admits, moving further away from Soonyoung till he’s on the sofa just beside, still in arm’s reach, but not close enough for Soonyoung to inflict nominal harm, if he was so inclined. It’s an unnecessary precaution. Soonyoung is more relieved than upset that it’s now two less people he’ll have to talk to about his plans for relocating them all. But also—

“How did _you_ find out?”

“You know there’s like, what, only two of us who can keep a secret. And you chose _Chan_.”

“It’s not like I can get another realtor.” Correction: _he can_ , but Chan is the best one he knows. “It was only supposed to be till it was finished. I was going to sit everyone down at some point.” Later. Much later. When the house was finished and he could show them around and tell them how beautiful it was and how he made sure to have windows large enough to provide sufficient lighting for all of Mingyu’s plants, six ovens in the kitchen for whenever Jeonghan needs to stress bake, a built-in recording studio so that Hansol and Jihoon can work from home. He’s bought five acres of land plotted the exact same distance from all of their jobs, but still not too far from the airport for when Junhui has to fly for his oversees shoots and Minghao visits home. There’s a wine cellar for his baby alcoholics Seungcheol and Jisoo that holds up to 3,000 bottles and a meditation room stocked with soft plushies and cushions for whenever Seokmin and Seungkwan need to unwind from after long hours at the hospital and radio station. He’s already waiting on the shipment of books for Wonwoo’s library and the picture frames for the Hoshi museum Chan insists on setting up. He really tried to think of everything that would make it hard for any of them to say no.

Seungkwan and Seokmin share a look.

Soonyoung narrows his eyes. “What?”

“We know,” They say at the same time.

“We as in—everyone?”

Seungkwan hesitates, fingernail between his teeth, and that’s all the confirmation Soonyoung needs.

D+90—The End 5:58 PM

They’re in the screening room waiting for Soonyoung’s final song release to mark his retirement from the music industry. Jisoo is playing cards with Minghao and Wonwoo. If Soonyoung has been keeping track correctly, Jisoo is about to have his fourth win. Neither of his opponents have caught on to the fact that Jeonghan has been slipping Jisoo cards in his shirt under the guise of playing with his hair. Chan sits on Mingyu’s back, elbows digging into his spine as Junhui patiently waits for his turn for a massage. They both flew back to Seoul today from Germany and refused to sleep off the jetlag. “Like we’d ever miss a party,” Junhui yawned as Seungcheol helped him put his bags away earlier (their rooms are beside each other). Seokmin and Jihoon finally get the tv to connect to YouTube just as Seungkwan, Hansol, and Seungcheol carry in the pizza—all twenty boxes.

And Soonyoung does a headcount, still not quite believing that what he sees is now his reality.

They’re all here. All twelve parts of his heart gathered in one room. This room. In their home. That he built.

He closes his eyes to take it all in and when he opens them again, something shifts in the air.

Twelve alarms go off simultaneously.

Twelve pairs of eyes turn to look at him.

Time stops.

And Soonyoung lets it.

**Author's Note:**

> Fellas is it gay to build a large house so you can have all your favorite ppl in one place and not have to travel everywhere just to get a hug? 
> 
> If you read till here, thank you <3 If you feel the need to leave a comment and/or kudos, well who am I to stop you?
> 
> twt: [@meliorismel](https://twitter.com/meliorismel)


End file.
